Lazy Sunday Morning
by Nikki Narcissist
Summary: Just a little Kurtofsky fluff. :


A/n: Okay, I'm sure you guys are used to my troll fics by now, and I'm really sorry, but this isn't one of them. I was bored in my music class today and decided to write some Kurtofsky fluff. Enjoy!

Kurt's skin tasted salty and wet. Dave lingered on his jaw, peering up through dark lashes to see blue eyes staring down at him.

"You're up." David said, grinning and nipping at Kurt's bottom lip.

"It's hard to sleep when _someone_ can't keep his hands to himself." Kurt retorted, raising his eyebrows. Dave chuckled and nuzzled his face into the crook of Kurt's neck.

"I got impatient. You sleep for_ever_." he whined, finding Kurt's hand under the covers and intertwining their fingers.

Kurt giggled and lifted his free hand to Dave's face, absent-mindedly brushing his hair back.

"Hey, Karofsky?" he breathed wistfully. A smile played its way across Dave's face at the use of his surname, something he rarely heard anymore without a 'Mr.' in front of it.

"Yes, Kurt?" There was laughter in his voice as he rolled onto his stomach and draped his arm across Kurt's neck.

"Get off me, you big lug! I can't breathe!" Kurt gasped melodramatically. Beaming, Dave allowed himself to be flipped over, snaking his arms around Kurt's waist and pulling his disgruntled lover on top of him.

"I'm _trying_ to be serious, Dave."

"Okay, be serious."

Dave pulled his mouth into an excessively somber frown, furrowing his brows and fixing Kurt with his best 'serious face'.

"Dave, I think we should get married."

David searched for insincerity in the blue eyes he loved so much, and found none.

"Are... are you serious?" he asked, breaking into a wide grin and gently squeezing Kurt, who nodded and returned the smile.

"I mean, why not? You just got that promotion and I just got my first lead on Broadway..."

"You got the part?"

"I got the part! So why _shouldn't_ we? We certainly have the money, we've been together about five years now, and we're not getting any younger..."

Kurt trailed off, stifling a laugh at the look of complete surprise plastered on Dave's face.

It was exactly five years and three days ago that they had fallen in love. David Karofsky, a 21 year old personal assistant (after having skipped college in favor of a tolerable wage and a chance to work for one of the oldest, most decrepit millionaires in the country), had literally bumped into the object of his boyhood affection and aggression, one Kurt Hummel, while retrieving coffee for his crotchety boss.

Kurt, a starving artist wrapped in scarves and arrogance, had been stopping for a Chai Tea Latte before his next audition. They exchanged pleasantries and phone numbers and agreed, out of social obligation, to meet for dinner at a Chinese bistro with low prices and lower attendance. That night, somewhere between the apologies and the laughter, they fell in love.

After a few months of long nights whispering under the covers and long days missing each other, Kurt asked David to move in with him, and they searched the newspapers and rented an apartment just big enough for the both of them. David went from assistant to vice president of the company in the course of four years, and when David's boss passed away, no one was surprised he had left the entire company to Mr. Karofsky, the son he never had. Kurt scored roles I successful off-Broadway productions and had more recently been spotted in the ensemble and even a few supporting roles on Broadway.

Now they were lying in bed on a rainy Sunday morning in September, the CEO and the soon-to-be starlet, cuddling and planning a wedding. The sun had long risen, but the grey sky gave no indication of the time of day; it could have been a bitter dawn. Outside of their flat, cabs honked, pedestrians swore, and the city continued to bustle, but the maroon curtains left the couple oblivious to the continuous downpour of rain and pessimism.

They had each other, they had their Chinese Bistro and their lazy mornings in bed, and they had a future; nevermind the rest of the world.


End file.
